


Hoardless book hoarder

by Astray



Series: SMAUG shenanigans [5]
Category: Elizabethan and Jacobean Theatre & Literature RPF, Shakespeare RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, nothing graphic - considering Marlowe's filthy mind it's a miracle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:46:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4048474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people lose their keys their wallet, their marbles. Kit Marlowe did not lose any of these. He lost his book. He had plenty of books. But this one, this precious one, is gone. And he had his idea on who is responsible for the volume's untimely disappearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoardless book hoarder

 

He was going to murder that man. Slowly, painfully. With a blunt pencil! That idiot. He had searched the entire flat, up-ended his bookshelves, checked under the sofa, in Will's bookcase, in all the bags he could find. He even called Jonson to check. But no. His volume of _The Devil's Lewd Hat_ was gone! Gone! Oh, how he wanted to rage at the sod – who happened to be still locked in the bathroom. As if he already knew what he was risking by stepping out. Wise Will. None the wiser for hiding his book. But again, trying to coerce Will into spilling the beans would take too much time – better yet try a more... effective, yet gentle approach. All he'd have to do is look every bit the innocent man he was not. He sighed – Will was lucky that he loved him so much. 

"Will?" 

No answer – or maybe he was again with his head in the sink, trying to wake up with cold water. The man was hopeless – love had yet to blind Kit on the subject: William Shakespeare was a lost cause, albeit a rather handsome one.

Sometimes, Kit wished he had become fortune teller, because apparently he was always right. He opened the door to find said William Shakespeare, naked to the waist, his head in the sink. Kit shook his head. And nearly forgot why he had stepped in to begin with. Smirking to himself, he squeezed Will's sides, relishing in the painful thud of Will's head connecting with the cupboard. Vengeance had to be painful. Else it was not even fun. Duh. 

"Damnit, Kit!" 

"You can call me Kit." 

Will turned around, rubbing the back of his head, and glaring daggers at him. He could have looked threatening – if it were not for the water trickling down his face, his hair plastered to his forehead. Kit was not a cruel man, so he simply grabbed a towel – oh, a new, fluffy one, sweet! – and dried Will's face – well, making sure to make him eat some of it in the process. And he nearly laughed at the indignant squawk Will rewarded him with. When he deemed him dry enough, Kit put the towel away and drew Will in a loose embrace. Those pants fit him quite nicely – maybe a bit too nicely. 

"Are you sure you will go to work like that? You have classes, after all."

"Of course not, I'll put a shirt and my coat on." 

"Don't play dumb – those trousers should not be worn outside."

"Would you rather have me go butt naked?"

Hum, Marlowe knew that mock-shocked look – the one that decidedly made people label Will as the fop he was not. And then, shock turned into a half-smirk that could only be said to be saucy. Nevermind how he ever came up with that.

"Please, share your dirty thoughts with me?" Okay, the smirk was bad, but it just got worse...

Wait, _he_ was supposed to be the one seducing Will into telling him of his book's whereabouts. Not the contrary – and it was not supposed to work. No, he did not want to pounce on that idiot. Nope. And no, he was definitely not coping a feel of this gorgeous ass. Stupid Will, the death of him, that is. But Will asked a question and he would answer, praying it'd make him feel uncomfortable: "Going commando, Shakespeare? I can't allow that."  _And I totally will never let it pass. Never in hell. No way you get out of here in those sinful pants with no underwear._ It was not that he did not trust his colleagues, or students, or anyone else. He did not trust himself. Experience had proven he was weak.

"Not that anyone would know."

So much for making Shakespeare uncomfortable. And why the heck did he have a mental image of a mini-Nashe happily jumping around, claiming he had perverted Shakespeare, _yay!_ It made him want to facepalm. Like, really. _Oh gods, why must life hate him so?_ Speaking of Nashe, they ought to have a talk.

"I know, Will – that's more than enough."

They still had over two hours before his first class. And they lived on campus – that was the bright side of being a lecturer. But no. It was not the time. He shook his head, almost missing Will's suddenly slopping countenance. Wait... Usually Shakespeare was not one to ask for a quickie before going to school – never. Not since Nashe – him again – commented that the _Marche de l'Empereur_ was not supposed to take place in Britain. There must be something... Trying to look merely curious, he cocked his head to the side – his usual stance when wondering about something. Lucky Will caught on it – but again, not lucky that he seemed to try and ignore it. This would not do.

Alright, maybe it was not his brightest idea to date, but he was honest when he told Will he could not let it slip. It was just not done. He certainly appeared like a kind of very jealous person right now, but, and it bears repeating, _he did not trust himself_ around Shakespeare knowing he had one fewer layer to deal with. Not to mention that now, the department provided his office with a very nice armchair and- _Breathe, Kit. Just breathe, you'll be okay. And you won't murder Nashe either. Nope. Maybe..._ Oh, screw it. Will was definitely too tempting, and anyway, when you want information from Will, you just turn him into jelly – and he'd be willing to confess pretty much anything.

“Kit, you are spacing out.”

Of course he was... “You said something?”

“I am still stuck between a rather cold porcelain sink and a not-cold-at-all you... And we have classes.” Kit would have groaned at how Will was wriggling on the spot, as though to prove his point. And gods, why was he even bothering again?

“We do. Later.” He let his voice trail, slightly rolling the 'r'. Will wanted to get away, it was reason enough to keep him in place. To have Will at his mercy was always a good thing – and it was not often he got to mess with him before class – due to a certain someone still sleeping when he left, mostly. Fine, maybe he had no reason to grind against Will. But the resulting hiss, and the death grip his lover had on his sides, were proof that he was doing it right. He bent his head to the side, nipping at Will's jaw, relishing the sharp intake of breath it drew out.

“Do we have to go?” As good a whine as any in his book. A perfectly valid question too.

“I have to. If you want to call in sick just because you can't get out of your pants in time... Do it.”

He had spoken against his skin, aware that it really did not help their case but he did not care anyway. Kit decided that, after all, if he had time, he might as well indulge. He rubbed his fingers up Will's back, and down, resting just at the waistband of his jeans. _Gods Will, the things you make me do._ He was not prepared to have his hair caught, his head forced back up only to be pulled into a kiss. It was messy, and unbelievably hot. Their teeth clacked at one point, and he pressed himself against Will. _Sod it._ And, throwing whatever sanity he had left to the wind, he dug his fingers in Will's lower back – as soon as he was distracted, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against his. He probably shouldn't, this was getting edgy and deep down, he knew that if Will just asked, he would be late to class as well. Without any kind of remorse. Part of Kit simply wanted to mess with his lover before sauntering away – another part of him just wanted to kiss his way down his body, marking and biting. And if his own trousers got ruined in the process, he could not care less.

It did not take long for his options to be weighed – while more time consuming, the second was definitely the best one. _Then_ he would ask questions.

He bent his head slightly to the side, laying slow, open mouthed kisses on Will's throat and collarbone. It was not enough yet, so he harshly ground his hips against Will's – the sudden friction felt hellish. He relished the quivers of his lover's body, how easily he seemed to melt under his touch. He marvelled at it. It brought memories of their first encounters – Will was enthusiastic, overwhelmingly kind, and only this side of being a walking disaster. When they met, Will was light and brilliant and always bringing up new ideas. When they met, Kit was already more than just cracked. Why Will befriended him was a wonder never explained. Kit was floating under currents, his thoughts covering kilometres of paper sheets. When they met, Will was a scholar because he wanted to pass on knowledge. Kit was a scholar because only research prevented him from thinking.

"Kit. Stop doing that."

No, he was not, not ever. It was his time to play. Not that he was ever going to say it. Instead, he let himself fall slowly to his knees, pants be damned. Doing so, Kit nipped at Will's skin, down his chest, trailing over his ribcage. His hands settled on his lover's hips, applying just enough pressure to let him know that moving away was not an option, but not to bruise. He had to admit that Will was showing great restraint – himself would probably have grabbed handfuls of his hair. Kit briefly glanced at him – Will was not looking at him, he had his head thrown back against the cupboard, his eyes screwed shut. This would not do.  
“Will.” No answer. Fine. He let out a mock-sigh and nuzzled Will's hip, shifting slightly before laying a hand on the fastenings of his pants. That seemed to get his attention, as Will's head suddenly snapped forward.

“Do you have to be such a tease?” It should have been a bit mean, and a bit threatening. It came out as a whisper, and it was rather interesting to get such a subdued reaction from someone normally so flamboyant about everything.

Just as Kit made to reply something rather scathing about idiots not paying attention, Will's phone went off. He wanted to kill something. Again. It was recursive today. It took all his willpower not to force Will back against the sink the moment he made a move for it. It was useless to try. As of this moment, Kit vowed to have a no cell policy in the flat. Those things were a nuisance. He rose after Will disappeared, and followed the cursing to the living room. Admittedly, it was quite a sight to see Will practically hop to get to the device, without tripping on his own feet – and Kit thought he saw a wince when he made the mistake of launching himself across the couch. He would almost sympathize – if the view weren't so tempting, that was. Just as Will triumphantly grabbed a hold of the still-ringing thing, Kit decided it would be equally fun to just mess with him some more. Depending on who was calling, turning Will into a mess would be even more enjoyable.

“Shakespeare?” Oh, and didn't sweet Will sound pissed. Probably the department then. But who? Pretty much anyone who had a choice would never use their private phones to reach Will on a good day – mostly because he tended to avoid those calls. Except Kit's – because he would get hell – and Jonson's – Ben never bothered him for anything. Let's say he never called. Kit crept behind Will – who was still half-sprawled on the sofa – and indulged in one of his preferred method of tormenting Will. He kissed the nape of his neck, brushing his hair out of the way, before trailing down his spine. He was careful not making a sound and, to his credit, neither did Will.

“What now, Nashe?”

A beat. Two. Kit racked his nails across his lower back, and this time noticed his breath hitching. For someone who just acted like some sort of horny teenager, Will Shakespeare was showing incredible control. Maybe that was how he kept from murdering students. Or that was how he never got caught after doing so.

“What?”

Huh, every time Will went “what” on someone, it usually spelled trouble. And true to form, Kit could practically feel any arousal drain from him. _Nashe, I think I'll kill you._

“Sheyyyyyyyyyt! I totally forgot – yeah right. – Oh, just shut the hell up! See you in a few.”  
To be honest, Kit was not even trying anymore. He did not have to as Will sprang from his grasp, and Kit had no time to blink – metaphorically speaking – before Will was at the door and out. Kit just stood there, not quite knowing what happened. He slowly turned around, walked to where their agendas were – and saw it. In bold, red felt-tipped pen: _Get at uni earlier – 1_ _st_ _y. exam talk w/ Nashe and Jonson. + Lyly._ Right. He was going to kill them all. Will for being an airhead – and possibly being responsible for the disappearance of his book; Nashe for spoiling his fun. Maybe he would let Ben live – he probably the only one that could be saved in the area anyway. Of course, if Lyly attended, it had to be important. Ah, first-years – he was glad to know that he did not have to teach them anymore. Anyway... Kit called Nashe. As soon as the man answered, he let out his best threat of actually hanging him to the ceiling and demonstrating the effect of blood spray after a beheading. And maybe Nashe would think twice before calling Shakespeare outside of office hours, because really, that was just not done. To which Nashe simply laughed, apologized for interrupting something – and hung up on Kit. Yes, murders. Painfully retributive murders. Where was this blasted book, again? He let out a long-suffering sigh. Of course... the library.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (No playwright has been harmed in the making of this chapter. For now.)


End file.
